


Impossibly Sweet

by JoyBurd



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Come Eating, Fantastic Beasts Kink Meme, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, TW for this not being how hypothermia works
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-01
Updated: 2017-02-01
Packaged: 2018-09-20 05:49:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,100
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9478361
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JoyBurd/pseuds/JoyBurd
Summary: Most people forget Manhattan is an island, but Newt Scamander never will.filling this prompt on the kink meme: http://fantasticbeasts-kinkmeme.dreamwidth.org/1184.html?thread=1845152#cmt1845152"Newt's jacket gets ruined so Percival gives him his own. He can't control the *feelings* about how hot Newt looks in it."





	

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not 100% happy with this but I'm sick to death of holding onto it so here, take my trash.
> 
> Title from "Fire" by Kristin Cashore, my one true idol, tbh
> 
> I've been obsessively following Seasons-Gradience on tumblr and their head cannons on Percival are the world to me, especially the one where he doesn't give a fuck abt how he looks, so, tw for Graves not caring about fashion.

Graves gets the owl at 2am in the middle of January that a wizard and an "unidentified creature" have plunged into the East River. He takes a full minute to sigh loudly to himself in his empty flat because he _knows_ there's only one person that could be. Graves hadn't even been aware Newt was back in town, but this is a hell of a way to announce himself.

Graves sends the owl back to headquarters with instructions to contact several Aurors he knows don't sleep much, Abernathy and a few more, and rolls himself out of bed. He tucks his sleep shirt into the trousers he'd cast off on the floor the night before-- figures it doesn't matter much, no one will see what he's wearing under his coat after all--and slips himself into his shoes.

He picks his heaviest wool coat. It's a frigid January, and he's mildly surprised anyone managed to get past the thick ice that collects on the edges of the river along the banks and piers. But if anyone could do it, Scamander could. Of that Graves was sure.

He has no cuff links, and his shoes are scuffed. After Grindelwald--after being suspended, then reinstated, then suspended again due to department-wide doubts about his health, and finally reinstated _again_ \--after everything, he'd burned his old clothes. He'd taken particular pleasure in tossing the scorpion cuffs into the river. But even that hadn't been enough, so he'd found tenants for his grand old brownstone downtown--unable to bring himself to sell it since it had been in his family for several generations--and he'd moved further uptown. He hadn't wanted to live anywhere too busy--to _loud_ \--but too abandoned and he'd never feel safe. Downtown was like that: after five in the afternoon, the whole neighborhood emptied and the streets echoed overloud with any single pair of foot steps. He'd found it so difficult to walk home that sometimes he'd just put up at a hotel room, showed up to work the next day in the same clothes, just a bit more wrinkled. And that was probably why he'd been suspended and reinstated so many times: people notice him. He never quite perfected the art of blending in.

He'd eventually settled on a small pair of rooms in the Toy District, an area that bustled with the quiet focus of business during the day, punctuated often by the laughter of children visiting the toy stores the district was named for. But the area was almost as empty as downtown at night, with the notable exception of light nightlife stemming from the popularity of the district with photographers, a cohort known for their enjoyment of the more illegal of substances. The general effect was that, at any given time, any time of day, the quiet was punctuated by someone's laugher, ringing easily in the open spaces between the terra-cotta and limestone buildings. And that comforted Graves, somehow. As did the cheap rent.

It usually takes him a good forty-five minute walk to get to the Woolworth Building, but the letter had informed him that Newt had fallen in near the East 23rd St Bath House, right off the end of the Recreation Pier, which is just a jaunt away. He walks quickly, taking long strides that almost hurt his knees in the cold. He shoves his hands deeper into his pockets, hunching his shoulders so the rough material of his jacket scratches at the shadow of a beard he's developed in the night.

The coat isn't _awful_. It just isn't perfectly cut with flared, accented cuffs. It fits him snuggly and it keeps him warm. He can't ask for more in a coat.

Graves has never cared much about fashion. He wants to look professional, and historically that's been about the extent of his interest. But after Grindelwald, he almost feels embarrassed to show up anywhere in a coat he'd purchased from the cheapest store on his block, clearly previously used, worn at the edges and smelling very obviously of wool.

He's the first person to arrive at the dock, where there has very clearly been an incident with something large. Pieces of the dock are completely collapsed, as though the foot of something big stepped clear through, and at the end of the dock the wooden railing that used to run parallel to the Brooklyn skyline is splintered and nearly completely gone.

Graves makes his way to the far edge of the dock and puts his hand on the edge of a ruined piece, sticking up in the air at a very strange angle. He looks out across the dark water, searching slowly for nothing in particular. Bubbles maybe, the clear ripples that come with a body in the water. Anything. Then he hears a splash below him.

Almost directly underneath the end of the pier, there's a very large, very jagged hole in the ice. Right in the middle of the hole is Newt, red curly hair plastered to his forehead, jaw almost vibrating, with a white, long-haired creature the general size of a toddler clinging to his neck. The creature stares up at Graves with eyes almost as wide as Newt's are, and Graves could swear he sees the creature's eyes flash a bright blue, but he's tired, and not very certain of his mental faculties at the moment. If he ever is.

"M-Mr. G-G-Graves," Newt calls up to him, forcing the acknowledgment through his chattering jaw. Concern zings through Graves at the sight of him and his fingers itch to reach for him. How long has Newt been down there in the freezing water? It couldn't have taken Graves more than ten minutes to get here, and the owl likely no longer than that from headquarters. Newt's probably frozen to the bone by now, and tired if he's been treading water that long. At the edges of the hole in the ice, Graves can see the obvious signs of attempts to lever himself out of the water: he's obviously given it the old college try, but the ice would be too slippery and his hands probably too numb from the water to have much success.

"Mr. Scamander," Graves says, sinking to one knee and gripping the edge of the dock in one hand. He'll never reach Newt, the dock is much to high above the water. He folds his free hand into his coat, reaching for his wand.

"Y-Y-You look w-w-warm-m," Newt says, and Graves thinks one of his shivers is possibly meant to be a laugh.

"You don't," Graves says, and murmurs, " _Wingardium Leviosa_." With a flick of his wand, Newt is rising out of the East River by his coat collar, the creature continuing to cling to any handhold he can get on Newt. Graves sets Newt down gently on the dock just next to him, and Newt tries to stand but his knees buckle. The creature seems equally bad off, and it huddles more closely into Newt, wrapping it's absurdly long arms around itself. And now Graves is sure its eyes are flashing. They're pulsing quickly, like a card deck being shuffled.

"Oh, no," Newt says, pulling the creature closer to him. "You poor thing."

You _poor thing_ , Graves thinks, taking in Newt's appearance. Now that he's out of the water and in the frigid air, the ends of Newt's hair are noticeably starting to freeze. His shivers increase incrementally until the comforting murmuring he's aiming at the creature turns into uncontrolled chattering punctuated by vague groaning.

"Newt," Graves says, bending down to his level. He reaches for Newt's face and his skin is icy, pale with cold. His freckles stand out like pen marks on his skin.

"Hah," Newt says. He's too cold for his breath to even fog in the air. Graves' breathing is panicked, fast, coming quickly in his chest, and his own exhales fill the space between them with mist. Newt turns his mouth into Graves' palm and Graves isn't cold himself but he shivers. "W-Warm," Newt says.

Graves presses his lips together. "Let's get this off you," Graves says, and he lets his hands slip down underneath Newt's coat collar.

"W-What? But I'm so-"

"Keeping this water-logged thing on you is only making it worse," Graves says. "So is that soaking wet, uhh," he gestures down to the creature in Newt's arms, "I'm sorry, I don't know what that is."

"Dem-Dem-Demiguise," Newt says. He's trying to maintain a concerned look on his face but it's almost like Newt is too cold to focus on his own facial expressions, and his brow keeps flickering between concerned and lowly focused.

The Demiguise stares up at Graves with almost frightened eyes, until another flash of blue, and then its face noticeably relaxes. It begins to untangle itself from Newt and Newt clutches after it but it evades him. The Demiguise waddles its way to Graves, shivering delicately. Graves is almost worried it's going start clinging to _him_ or to try to crawl into his own coat for warmth, but it stops just in front of him, and Graves is almost certain its waiting on something.

"Case," Newt says. He's shrugging himself out of his own sopping coat. "A-A-App-Applesauce, my case is-"

Graves reaches for the buttons on his own coat and yanks it off his shoulders. "Here," he says, reaching to wrap it around Newt. Newt watches him, and Graves can feel Newt's eyes burning into his forehead as he focuses on pulling the collar of his wool coat close around Newt's throat. He straightens the shoulders a bit, noticing the garment just swallows Newt whole and trying to _ignore_ how that information zips through his body and makes him feel strangely awake--chalks that up the cold wind that suddenly has unlimited access to him through his thin sleep shirt--and with one last tug, he stands. "Wait here," he says.

He can see Newt's balled fists under the coat, shifting around to get a good grip. Graves returns to the ruined railing and reaches a hand out into the air. He doesn't need to speak the _accio_ for it to work, but he murmurs it under his breath anyway. It gives him something to focus on other than the thought of Newt in his overlarge coat, and how cold he is.

It takes a minute, but eventually the case comes zipping out of the water. Graves catches it by the handle, noticing it's oddly dry already for spending so long underwater.

"T-Thank you-u," Newt says when Graves sets the case down in front of him. Newt's almost blue fingers fiddle clumsily with the closures on the case until Graves shoos his hands away and undoes the clasps himself.

"Ta," Newt says. He holds a hand out to the Demiguise, "C'mon. In you g-go." Newt shudders with his whole body, but he keeps his arm out to the Demigusie. It shuffles toward him, glancing between Newt and the case, and Newt lowers the Demiguise into the space slowly, like putting a baby in a crib. Newt grips the edges of the case, rocking gently back and forth and staring after the Demiguise. Then he nods to himself and reaches for his wet coat.

"Let me," Graves says before Newt can touch it. The blue fabric is almost just a frozen mass when Graves picks it up. "Can I just drop it in?"

Newt nods. Graves is careful anyway, hooking the coat over the top rung of the step ladder he can see just inside.

"Mr. Graves, Sir," comes a voice from behind him, and Graves rises to see Abernathy, looking very warm in a well-fit coat and a wool hat.

"Get someone to fix this," Graves says, gesturing behind him to the splintered railing. Behind Abernathy, Graves can see several people staring openly at the dock, as well as a handful of Aurors making their way up the pier, dodging the holes in the wood. "And obliviate anyone who sees you. Mr. Scamander, were there any witnesses to... whatever you did?"

Newt shakes his head. "N-no. No one was h-here."

"You believe that, Sir?" Abernathy says, angling his shoulders so that his back is just slightly to Newt. Graves tries to ignore the way the question makes him just the tiniest bit defensive.

"I don't see why I shouldn't," Graves says. "I'm going to debrief Mr. Scamander and file a report in the morning. Make sure I hear from you before the end of the night."

"Sir," Abernathy says, reaching into his coat for his own wand.

"Mr. Scamander," Graves says, and he reaches down to get a hand under Newt's arm to lift him up. He lets his arm slip around Newt's waist, a little taken aback by how narrow he seems under all the layers of wool. Graves shivers a bit, tells himself it's because of the contact with his own warm coat in contrast to his rapidly decreasing body temperature, and tries not to look at Newt's face, or what he could see of it past the turned up collar of his coat.

"I can make my way to my a-accomodations-" Newt begins to say, but Graves interrupts him.

"I'm afraid I can't let you do that, Mr. Scamander. You're going to have to give me a statement."

Newt groans. "The W-Woolthworth Building is a bit f-far for tonight, don't you th-think?"

"Nonsense," Graves says, shifting his shoulders so Newt has to lean on him a bit more. "We're just going up the street."

Newt lets himself be dragged along twenty-third street with little complaint. Graves moves at quite a pace, knowing Newt wouldn't be keeping up with him if he wasn't practically carrying him. Every now and again he feels Newt's body vibrate, but the farther along they get the less he's sure it's Newt and not just himself who's wracked with shivers.

He opens the door to his walkup for Newt, whose eyes shift warily toward him before he steps, a little unsteady, past Graves into the building.

"It's just two flights up," Graves says.

Newt lets out a little huff, shoulders shifting under Graves coat. Graves swallows: even from where he's standing behind Newt he can see Newt's long fingers clutching at the edges of the coat's collar, pulling it close around his neck.

"Do you need me to carry you?" Graves asks him with a laugh. Maybe he's just tired and out of his mind with cold, but Graves thinks nothing of slipping his arm around Newt's waist.

"That might be nice, thank you," Newt says, glancing at him sideways. "Can we not just apparate up?"

Graves shrugs. "We can. Are you well enough for that?"

Newt opens his mouth to reply, but to his clear surprise, he hiccups.

Graves can't keep the smile off his face. "I'll just carry you."

Newt's face is starting to turn a deep shade of red when Graves presses his other arm under the back of Newt's knees and pulls him up into his chest. Newt clutches his cast to his own chest and doesn't look at Graves the whole trip up. Graves things of himself as pretty fit, but he has his limits. By the time they get to his door he's straining, breathing hard, and not at all cold anymore.

"Fine, fine, put me down," Newt says, batting at him with frigid hands. Graves sets him down easily, but stays close so he can reach into the coat pocket for his keys. Newt stiffens at the sensation of Graves' arm so close to him.

"Make yourself comfortable," Graves says, flicking his fingers in the general direction of the fireplace. It crackles to life happily. "I'm going to get some spare clothes for you."

He hears Newt shut the door behind himself, followed by a _thunk_ that he assumes is Newt setting down his case, and Graves tries not to think about how his rooms are maybe smaller and more dingy than the head of a MACUSA department's should be. They aren't _bad_ , by a long shot, but they certainly aren't his brownstone.

When Graves returns from his bedroom with one of his larger, heavier sleep shirts in his hands, the first thing he sees is Newt with his fingers on the wool coat's buttons.

"You can use the bedroom to-" then he sees a neat, though clearly very wet, pile of clothes in front of the fireplace grate, "-change. Oh."

Newt has slipped his arms fully into the coat now, his bare legs shifting and trying to generate warmth. He's only exposed from mid-shin down, and cheek bone up, but Graves feels warm. Very warm.

"Ah, apologies," Newt says, reaching a hand into his stiff, still partially frozen hair and shaking it loosely, "Couldn't wait."

Graves shrugs, clears his throat. "That's fine. Fine." Then he remembers the shirt in his hand. He clears his throat again, and runs a finger back though his hair. He hasn't even thought about it since he rolled out of bed, and he can feel that it's a mess of ends sticking up every which way. He offers the shirt, extending his arm all the way out from his body like he's afraid to get too close to Newt, and that's ridiculous because he's had his hands all over Newt in his stupid wool coat already. "There's this if you want it."

Newt sniffs a little, like he's developing a cold. He pulls the collar of the coat close around his face and mutters a, "Maybe later," into the material.

Graves stands for a minute trying to look anywhere but at Newt, trying to remember what he'd intended to do next.

"Right. Tea," Graves says, shifting onto the balls of his feet. "Would you like some tea?"

"Tea would be spectacular," Newt says. "Do you want any help?"

Graves waves him off, turning his back to head into the small kitchen off the side of the sitting room.

"I'll just get as close to this fire as humanly possible then," Newt murmurs. But Graves hears him anyway, and huffs a little laugh to himself.

Graves emerges from the kitchen with two cups of Earl Grey, and Newt is sitting on the floor in front of the fire with his knees pulled in close.

"Thank you," he says, reaching for the cup with two wool covered hands. He hums into the lip of the cup with his first sip.

Graves inclines his head in response, and even though there's a perfectly good settee just behind them, he sits down next to Newt, crossing his legs and resting his elbows on his knees.

"I really do need a statement," Graves says eventually. When he turns, he catches Newt staring somewhere in the vicinity of his chest, and he remembers with a start that he's wearing a sleep shirt. A rather thin one. He glances down and sees a few of the buttons have come loose as well. He thinks he should be embarrassed, but instead he finds himself oddly smug.

"Of course," Newt says, and even though he's turned away, Graves can see the flush of high color in his cheeks.

"At what time did the incident occur?" Graves asks.

"Oh, I'm not sure. Late," Newt says, obviously trying to be helpful.

Graves nods. "And what were you doing?"

"Well," Newt says, and Graves can tell by the twist of Newt's lips that he's about to admit to doing something he probably shouldn't have been doing in the first place. "My Erumpet got a little bit loose. Again."

Graves blinks. "I'm going to have to ask that you define both the word 'Erumpet' and 'again,' Mr. Scamander."

Newt shivers a little, and Graves takes note of that. He can't be cold--they're way too close to the fireplace. It has to be something else.

"An Erumpet is a large, horned creature," Newt says.

"Like an elephant?" Graves asks.

"More like a rhino, really," Newt says. "Anyway she got loose the last time I was here as well."

Graves feels his eyebrows rise. "Is that what caused all the structural damage in Macy's Deparment Store?"

"No, no, that was one of the Occamys."

Graves' stares at Newt, who meets his eyes with a wide-open, willing expression--like he could spend all night educating Graves on his plethora of creatures--but then he shakes his head.

"Never mind. I got her back in the case but, the way I, er, set myself up to receive her ended in myself and the Demiguise you met plunging into the river."

Graves sighs and sets his tea down on the floor in front of him so he can rub at his eyes. His fingers are warm from holding the heated cup. "I suppose I should be writing this down."

"I can remind you in the morning," Newt says helpfully.

"You'll have to come with me to headquarters in the morning, Mr. Scamander," Graves says, and out of the corner of his eyes he sees that shiver again.

"Mr. Scamander?" Graves says again. "Are you cold?"

"Definitely not," Newt says, just a little too fast.

Graves suppresses a smirk and leans over to place a hand on Newt's knee.

"It's no trouble," he says slowly. "I've got plenty of warm things, if you need them."

Newt curses under his breath, and Graves tugs lightly, gently suggesting Newt let his bare legs fall open. Newt sets his tea down on the other side of his body and goes, following the pull of Graves' hand. He tugs Newt's whole body closer to his, and Graves feels himself leaning in.

Newt's lips aren't cold at all but Graves doesn't expect them to be, really. He kisses Newt softly, trying not to think about what he's doing or where he's going with this. He pulls Newt's knee until Newt is facing him, and he crawls forward, pushing into the kiss until his hips are slotted between Newt's legs and his arms are on either side of Newt's chest, palms running over the slightly worn rug underneath them. And he feels almost lightheaded with it, with the speed at which he's moving through this.

"Is this okay with you?" Graves says, and he means to look at Newt's face when he asks but he doesn't want to stop kissing him. So he mutters it into Newt's jaw instead, mouthing his way to Newt's ear to nibble gently.

"Hmf," Newt says. Instead of answering him Newt says, "You know what I miss?"

Graves leans back, not sure if that means he should stop. Newt has his hands on Graves shoulders, and he rubs his thumbs into the muscle there that joins into Graves' neck. Graves inhales slowly, relishing the touch, letting his shoulders relax.

"Do you remember that coat you wore? With the ridiculous flared sleeves?" Newt says.

Graves blinks. "I remember it."

Newt's hands edge up into Graves hair and Graves shuts his eyes, focusing on the feeling of Newt's fingers in his hair.

"It was your coat wasn't it?" Newt asks.

Graves knows what he means by that, he thinks. Newt wants to know if he chose to wear the coat or if Grindelwald made him. If it was something Graves already owned or Grindelwald had acquired in order to make Graves body feel less like his own.

"My mother bought it for me," Graves says. He moves his hand to run softly against Newt's bottom lip. "It was the most expensive coat I owned."

"Mm, that's good," Newt says. He leans forward so his own mouth is under Graves' ear. "I thought about you in that coat a lot, Mr. Graves."

Graves' mouth hangs open, his breath coming in pants. Newt's got this half-lidded look on his face when he pulls back from Graves' ear that Graves can barely stand to look at too long. "What do you-"

"I thought about how much I wanted to suck you off in that coat. Only that coat. Do you know what I mean, Mr. Graves?"

Newt's staring up at him, eyes light under the curl of hair as he holds the edges of Graves' shirt so he can't pull away or even lean back. Graves huffs, trying to maintain some control over his reaction to this information even as he feels like his eyes are rolling back in his head. "I think I do."

Graves leans into Newt until his head is on his chest, and he murmurs a transfiguration spell into the wool of the old coat. He'll be sad to loose such a solid, warm garment, but he wants this moment more than he realized he did, and he's willing to sacrifice a coat for it if he has to.

Graves' eyes are closed but the flash of green is so bright he can see it behind his eyelids. He feels the sudden absence of Newt's body against his and when he opens his eyes Newt is spread out below him.

That coat was never made to close on his own body, but on Newt it just barely clasps at the waist. The shoulders are much too big and the white split of the sleeves hits Newt somewhere in the vicinity of his elbows. Graves reaches down for one of Newt's legs and finds it bare, bent up into his side.

Graves shifts forward a little and Newt lets out an short, "Ah!" as the material of Graves' trousers rub into Newt's half-exposed cock.

Graves lets out a short curse. "Sit back a little. Back up a bit, Newt."

"Call me Mr. Scamander," Newt says, but he does as Graves asks. "Use that tone, you know."

"I think I do, Mr. Scamander," and now that Newt's sitting back a little distance away from him Graves can see the abortive thrust of Newt's hips into the air. He looks small in Graves' jacket, like he's too young for it almost, too sweet with his freckles and curly hair. But the way the collar cuts against the skin of his chest, the way the tails split around his hips and create a fan of black and white against the rug is hitting Graves in all the right ways, as is the deep flush on Newt's skin as he looks up at him from under his lashes, body sunken where he's leaning back on his elbows.

With a groan, Graves lets himself fall forward. His hands press into the insides of Newt's thighs, and he sucks a few hard marks into the soft flesh, punctuated by sharp cries from Newt and the short, sharp rocking of his hips.

"Mr. Scamander," Graves says, letting the word rumble out of his chest and across Newt's skin. "Keep still."

"Yes," Newt says with a swallow.

Graves drags his teeth against Newt's inner thigh and Newt lets out a sharp groan.

"Yes, Sir," Newt says.

Graves rewards him with a light kiss to the vein on the underside of Newt's cock. He's fully hard now, and Graves keeps his hands pressing Newt's thighs back into the floor as he tongues at the slit, tasting precum.

"Mr. Graves," Newt cries, almost in a whine. Graves looks up and Newt is still resting back on his elbows, his half dry hair flopping into his eyes over his flushed forehead.

"I hope this will do," Graves says, wrapping his fingers around Newt's cock. "I know it isn't exactly what you had in mind, seeing as you're the one in the coat."

Newt's head flops back and he's muttering nearly nonsensically in short strings of sentences. "It's great. Great. This is wonderful," Newt says. And Graves smirks before he sets his mouth to work with his hand.

Graves swirls his tongue around the tip of Newt's cock a few times before hollowing out his cheeks and letting Newt slip further down his throat. He's not focusing on keeping it clean, so he's drooling, spit running down Newt's cock mixed with precum.

The next time he looks up Newt is a wreck. The flush that had been in his face and collar bones keeps spreading down his chest and Graves finds it so charming, the way Newt's coming undone so easily.

"Mr. Scamander," Graves says, his throat just the tiniest bit raw. "Are you going to come for me?"

"Yes, Sir," Newt says, and his head rolls back up see he can look Graves in the eyes.

"Go on, then," Graves says, and fits his mouth back around Newt's cock. He's got Newt halfway down his throat when Newt comes, and he can't even think about swallowing it all so he just lets his jaw hang loose, lets Newt thrust a few times into him before he slips out from between Graves' lips, and come drips down onto the tails of the coat underneath Newt.

Graves doesn't even have the time to register how _hard_ he is before Newt's hands are on him.

"Let me," Newt says, fumbling with the clasp to Graves' trousers. "God, please, Sir, let me."

Graves does, just lets him. Newt gets his trousers all the way off, and he fists a hand in Graves' shirt, hiking it up Graves' chest so he can kiss and scrape his teeth against Graves' skin. Graves loses what hold he'd had on himself and just lets Newt do what he wants.

When Newt gets his hand on Graves' cock, though, he feels the need to warn him.

"Newt, I'm not going to-" but Newt's mouth is already on him and, _fuck_ he's already coming into Newt's mouth, fingers in Newt's hair as he tries not to thrust in the wet heat.

He's still holding Newt's hair, tilting his head back, when he slips out of Newt's mouth. Newt lets his lips fall open so Graves can see his release there, cradled on Newt's tongue.

And he doesn't know what comes over him, but he says, "Swallow it," like some kind of command, and Newt does.

Graves releases his hair, and when he does Newt buries his face into the crease between Graves' thigh and hip. Graves can feel the open dampness of his mouth there, the quick, warm movement of his breath.

"We both swallowed," Graves says, feeling a laugh try to press its way out of his chest.

Newt groans into Graves' skin, and lifts his head, mouth lolling open. "I know. Kiss me," Newt says, crawling his way up Graves' chest.

Graves does laugh then, just as Newt slots his mouth into his.

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on tumblr at thunderybird.tumblr.com. Come talk to me about traumatized Graves because I *clenches fist* love it.
> 
> As always let me know about mistakes in the comments pretty please!
> 
> I tried to keep research light on this one--trying to keep my research solely for the sake of smut somewhat short, for, you know, my peace of mind-- but I'm a history major at heart so here's some notes:
> 
> The Toy District is what is modernly known as the Flatiron District. More info here: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Flatiron_District#History_and_name
> 
> And here's a map from the period that's actually quite...amazing (Flatiron Building was officially called the Fuller Building until the Fuller construction company moved to 57th St in 1929, and you can see it right next to the "Section 3" header): http://www.historicmapworks.com/Map/US/17401/Plate+049/Manhattan+1920-1924/New+York/
> 
> The East 23rd Street Bathhouse is kind of complicated. According to my maps from the above database, in the 20s it was on the river, but I'm pretty sure NYC has just taken up general expansion along the banks, and it's more inward now. Anyway, some info on it can be found here: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Asser_Levy_Public_Baths


End file.
